


Winter Veil is Drawing Near

by Dragomir



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Christmas Party, Comfort Food, Food, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Winterveil fic, champions with too much money, engineering mystery goop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir
Summary: The champions had more money than sense, Flynn thought, but at least they wanted to spread the joy of the season.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Winter Veil is Drawing Near

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eriakit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriakit/gifts).



> Look, it's Winter Veil. It's got schmoop. And I'm a goldfarmer in my free time, it would be feasible for half my toons to do this.

If, a week ago, someone had told Flynn that not only were the champions as a collective whole rich enough to buy Proudmoore Keep a dozen times over and still have enough money to buy themselves all a new set of armor each, he’d have believed them. Ever since the Alliance had come slamming into Kul Tiras like a particularly vengeful hurricane, there’d been an influx of money and goods like no one had _seen_ . Tides, just the _food_ would have made seven year old him, all skinny-limbed and starving, sit up and take notice. The _food_.

If the champions weren’t eating something, they were making it. Or getting the stuff to make it. Or buying weird knicknacks while someone _else_ made them food. If he’d still been seven, the sheer _amount_ of food some of the champions could eat would have made him sick with envy and just a small bit of horror. (For one, where did they _put_ all of that?)

Then one day, about two weeks before the _actual_ Feast of Winter Veil (apparently the whole thing went for _weeks_ on the mainland), three of his favorite champions - the giant, the elfy giant, and Lord Sunshine - met a goblin from Smokeywood Pastures and set some horribly expensive ball rolling in Dampwick Ward and Hookpoint that required them getting fifteen different forms from Miss Jaina and Lady Katherine and then securing the former Ashvane Shipyards.

And then talking the Scrimshaw and their bought guards into doing...something. Flynn’s eyes and ears around the Ward hadn’t turned anything up, only that a lot of gold was flowing from the champions to the goblins and then to Don Amos and what he’d turned the Scrimshaw into. Even with weekly beatings and occasional bribes from champions, the level of civility hadn’t changed a lot. Definitely wasn’t like the days of the old Scrimshaws. Old Man and Old Lady Scrimshaw would have kept things nice and polite around holidays, and they’d have done something on the actual feast day. But an entire bloody _week_ …

Well, it’d been a week, and suddenly those forms and all that gold materialized an actual thing. A lot of actual things. Namely, the stalls that cropped up like mushrooms on the Dampwick Tavern. All of them were branded with Smokeywoods Pastures’ logo, and all of them were passing out hot drinks and little parcels of food. Fruitcakes too, and mincemeat handpies. Once the bolder street kids had gone up to ask what was going on, the stalls were busy hives of activity. Even the guards on the Scrimshaw payroll were partaking - kids were earning money from them by running between posts and stalls to retrieve warm drinks and warm food for shivering, armored guards.

Flynn knew, in an abstract way, that the champions were _ridiculously_ wealthy. Seeing it in action, though, was another thing. He supposed it was why the commanders put up with them doing bizarre shit like pelting Horde champions with flasks of eggnog and tightly-wrapped bundles of warm gingerbread. They’d gotten pelted with flasks of mulled wine and tightly-wrapped bundles of some kind of handpie in return.

They’d exchanged _presents_ on one island, instead of doing anything resembling their jobs.

When Flynn told Mathias about the whole deal over a quiet drink in the Snug Harbor, his man just groaned and dragged a hand over his face. Apparently, he knew all three elves from the Horde. One of them was in his little professional club, the other was technically the biggest traitor in the Horde, and the third one wasn’t actually their child. Flynn had offered to kiss the headache away and gotten a dark look in return.

That was a no, obviously.

Now it was the week of Winterveil, and in addition to those stalls in the Ward, a whole thing had been set up in the old Ashvane dockyards. Which explained why they’d needed so many forms signed by Lady Katherine and Miss Jaina. Tables - more than enough for everyone in Dampwick and Hookpoint, from kids to adults - were set out in long rows, laden with more food than probably anyone had seen in their lives. And at one end of the dockyards on a little stage was an actual Greatfather Winter.

Flynn was honestly charmed.

Upon arriving at the dockyards, he’d been given a tag for his coat that said “Responsible”. Flynn would have laughed, except that the tag meant he’d gotten charge of a group of kids at one of the tables and was expected to watch them and help them load their plates up. Flynn _loved_ it.

Even if the champions had more money than sense, the energy in the dockyards was positive and filled with actual, palpable _joy_.

Flynn was having fun juggling rolls for his pack of barefooted kids, reminded rather suddenly of Klause doing the same thing for him and the rest of the Fairwind kids years ago at dinner. The kids lapped it up and applauded for him the whole time. Really warmed the heart, watching them all stuff their faces with food until they looked like some particularly fat squirrels from Unity Square.

At some point, he was relieved from his position of “Responsible” and was handed a plate of food by one of the goblins from Smokeywood Pastures.

He retreated up to the walkways overlooking the arena with his food and watched as the first kid approached Greatfather Winter. He at least knew what _that_ was about - the champions had gotten their Winterveil packages delivered to their rooms or hammocks around Boralus. It had given Mathias a migraine, which Flynn _had_ been allowed to kiss away. Greatfather Winter here wasn’t the real one, but once that first package was presented, that wouldn’t matter to anyone.

Flynn smiled as the kid carefully removed the paper, face lighting up with glee at the present they’d gotten. (The goblins had been going through the ward for two weeks talking to kids, who’d all been more willing to talk once the stalls had shown up with free food.) No doubt there’d be new clothes in there, or at least shoes and some good socks. And more food. ...Some kids might have asked for little toys, but Flynn wasn’t counting on that. Much as it pained him, practicality got beaten into kids here.

As the party went on, Flynn was drafted into being “Responsible” a few more times. The champions showed up at random points, talking to the goblins or taking a seat at tables with the smallest kids so they could be “Responsible” and let others take a breather. All of them loved kids, even the coldest ones, and weren’t about to upset them any. By the end of his fifth turn as a minder, he’d seen the rest of the champions come by. Apparently the warlock’s brother had finally been pardoned, because they were both there, along with the rest of her crew of misfits. The druid had caused quite a stir by turning into a very fluffy cat, and the kids had pounced on him soon after, petting him without much gentleness but enthusiasm to spare. The demon hunter was letting some small girls from a Scrimshaw client gang decorate his curved rams-horns with ribbons and glitter they’d gotten from somewhere, not caring that he was now sporting incandescent pink garb. It was all very sweet.

After a while, Flynn grabbed a mug of eggnog and poured most of his hipflask into it when he was certain no one was looking. One tired-looking longshoreman held his mug out with wide, pleading eyes and Flynn, feeling the whole Winter Veil spirit, poured him some extra rum as well. He received a silent toast in thanks and the man ambled off, whistling one of the carols from the audiophone in the corner of the dockyards.

He retreated up to the walkways overlooking the arena and found a spot where he could lean against a wall, grateful for the heavy winter coat he had one as the wind whistled past him. Still, it was sheltered enough up here and he wasn’t looking forward to another turn as a “Responsible” quite this moment. He sipped his eggnog, eyes closed at the warmth. Now all he needed was Mathias here so he could give him his present and it’d all work out.

The sun had started to set, shadows lengthening, when his silent request was answered.

  
  


Flynn almost fell off his perch when Mathias appeared almost out of thin air next to him, looking haggard and annoyed. His supply of smokebombs was almost gone - he’d been using them to dodge people wielding mistletoe since Winter Veil had started on the mainland, making everyone laugh or swear when he used them in enclosed spaces. (Alleria was currently a pariah, and everyone had orders to prevent her from getting more mistletoe after she’d smoked out the mess on the ship while trying to ambush Mathias on a dare.)

Mathias looked gloomier than usual, which was unusual since he, like most of the mainlanders, went absolutely _nuts_ for Winter Veil. He sat down heavily, and Flynn suddenly saw the reason for his gloominess: Someone had glued a large, festive wreath to his hair with the green goop Flynn had seen Lord Sunshine use to bond metal to metal. And, apparently, plant matter to hair. That was _not_ going to come out easily, and not without an extra set of hands. (Happy Winter Veil to _him!_ )

"Enjoying the party?" Flynn asked, drawing his eyes away from the wreath with great difficulty. 

Somewhere below them, two children were shrieking happily as they chased each other around, waving weapons made of foam that they’d gotten from Greatfather Winter. Their adults were looking on with fond smiles, indulging in the hot chocolate currently being served to ward the chill away. It warmed Flynn’s heart, seeing all this happen. That the champions had done this, even when sometimes it only looked like they were good at breaking things… Well. They were better than every coat in Kul Tiras put together.

And they’d all paid into this whole party out of their own pockets.

They weren’t even looking for anything but the joy of sharing Winter Veil with people.

"Hm." Mathias grunted, tugging at the wreath with a displeased look on his face. Flynn wondered who'd held the spymaster down and who'd gotten the dubious honor of gluing it in place. "It's cold. ...Ironforge is better."

Flynn grinned and shook his head, taking a sip of his eggnog. As one of the responsible adults for the whole *week* of party, Flynn was swearing off alcohol. Mostly. He wasn't the only one who'd poured a bit more rum into the eggnog than it had come with. "You mainlanders and your *warmth*," he laughed. He tugged a package out of his coat pocket and handed it over before he could forget. "Speaking of."

Mathias took the package with the air of a man receiving a lit bomb, which Flynn thought was unfair. He waited, suddenly rather nervous, as Mathias rather carefully removed the paper from his present. Flynn had gone and asked Taelia for help with it, so it probably wasn't *too* horrible. (She was almost as practical as his sweetheart, which was why he'd gone to her in the first place.) He stared at the contents for a good few minutes before lifting them out of the simple box, an odd look on his face.

Flynn's face fell. "...You don't like them?" he guessed, feeling like a kid again, trying to guess if what he was about to say would set Dad off or just make him laugh.

"The colors are...interesting." Mathias' lips quirked up in what passed for a smile for him. "Kul Tiras green?"

Flynn grinned sheepishly. "So you don't forget me while I'm gone."

Mathias rolled his eyes as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. It clashed horribly with the wreath. "As if I could." But his smile was fond, this time, so Flynn counted it as a win.

(On his way out of the party with Mathias later, when the sun had completely set and people were gathering around the braziers for warmth, the elfy giant slipped him a note. Apparently, _his_ Winter Veil present was a brand new bath in his little apartment, large enough for two people. And Lord Sunshine had even delivered shampoo that would free Mathias from the wreath.)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so half the OCs in here are mine, half of them are Eriakit's. They exist in a shared universe, and at this point we can't really extricate them.
> 
> Alliance side:  
> The Giant - Callan "Danny" Danville, warrior, vrykul throwback.  
> The Elfy Giant - Jaesix Odynsdottir, warrior, only slightly bigger than Danny. (Eri's)  
> Lord Sunshine - Varos Light-of-Dawn, paladin, shorter than both of them and pissed off.
> 
> Alliance, ft. at the party:  
> The warlock - Hephona Maraver, demon enthusiast.  
> Her brother - Hebrides Maraver, druid, poisonous plant collector  
> The druid - Dalaelem, crazy cat man and part-time parent  
> The demon hunter - Sarras, part-time jungle gym
> 
> Horde side:  
> Professional club - Saeri, rogue, has a shitload of kids. (Eri's)  
> Traitor to the Horde - Anandel "Nan" Gravechaser, death knight, married an orc.  
> Not their kid - Falothan, death knight, got stuck as a kid when he was raised as a dk.


End file.
